Spin the Knife
by Taylor Hayes
Summary: Another Saturday in detention, and a few things have changed, but a lot has stayed the same. Alison/Bender. I always thought they belonged together! *wink* On hiatus, although I do have plans to continue.
1. Spin the Knife

SPIN THE KNIFE

a/n I always found the couples at the end of this very cliched. I prefer this. *grin*

Allison spun the knife on the table. It ended up pointing at Bender.

"What's your biggest fear?"

Bender smirked. "Psycho kleptos carrying around my switchblade."

The Basketcase's grin matched the Criminal's.

"Oh, come on, Bender. You know that's not a real answer," Claire sighed, rolling her eyes.

As usual, Andy agreed with her, but didn't say anything.

The scowl on Bender's face would have scared anyone else. Bt not these four.

"Becoming a fag wrestler like Sporto?" he joked, punching Andy's shoulder.

Brian laughed at that, then frowned when he realized he was the only one who seemed to find it amusing.

Allison twisted her mouth and leaned in to give Bender a serious stare. "John Bender, Criminal, Detention Addict, _what is your biggest fear?_"

He met those dark eyes and groaned. Somehow Allison knew them all better than they knew themselves. And it was only the compulsive liar who could get the truth out of her friends.

Bender looked down at his boots, fingers picking at a hole in his jeans. His answer was subdued and grim. "That I'll end up just like my old man. A sorry, alcoholic bastard who's failed everything he ever tried."

Allison dropped her head softly on his shoulder, trying to show comfort without real body contact. Only a month ago, it would have been Claire sitting at Bender's side. But things had changed. And when the Claire/Bender, Allison/Andy pairings had refused to work, the Basketcase and the Criminal had drifted together, recognizing in each other what had been missing in their previous relationships. So far, they had just been casually hanging out together.

And somehow, the Breakfast Club had endured, remaining friends despite the awkwardness of the breakups, the amount of time Bender and Allison spent with each other and the shock of the school's different cliques.

In an effort to support Bender on his year long detention streak, they had all made it a point to either just show up on Saturdays, or do something to get assigned detention.

Allison brought everyone back into the moment as she popped up off Bender's shoulder with a squeak that meant Bender had pinched her. She spun and glared at him, then reached for the knife, and passed it to Brian on her right. "Your turn."

Brian plunked down the knife and gave it a good spin. This time it pointed at the Athlete. The spinner tried to decide. "I don't...Uh. Who was the first girl you kissed?"

"Lame, Big Bri," Bender commented, and the other nodded agreement. Brian shrugged and stuck to the question, looking across at Andy.

He laughed. "Patty Marshall, I guess."

"Your dad pointed you her way, didn't he, Sporto?""

Frowning, then nodding, Andy confirmed Bender's words. "It was sixth grade and my dad told me Patty was a cute girl. And that she'd make a good girlfriend. Next class party, I planted one on her. But everyone teased us."

"I remember that!" Claire laughed. "You two wouldn't even sit next to each other the rest of the year."

Andy smiled wryly.

Allison made a squirelly noise, then pointed from the knife to Claire. The Princess rolled her eyes, but twisted the knife.

When it stopped, Claire looked at Allison, trying to decide what to ask. Finally she sighed. "What's something you've always wanted to steal?"

Allison hunched into herself, biting her lip. Her eyes darted around the circle, and her mouth spread in a fox's grin. "Scary Harry's Harley."

That surprised them all. Bender snorted. "You're psycho, Psycho. Even my old man wouldn't wanna fight Scary Harry, no matter how trashed he is."

Allison just shrugged.

Looking confused, Andy quietly asked, "You like motorcycles? I didn't even know."

She shrugged again, before pointing at the knife.

Slowly looking away from her, Andy spun the knife, which stopped on Brian.

The Brain grinned. At this point, they knew pretty much everything about him. There wasn't anything else to be embarrassed about.

Andy stared pensively at Brian, trying to think of something to ask. "Favorite movie or movies, I guess."

"Star Trek!" was Brian's immediate answer. They all laughed. The Brain was a nerd, through-and-through.

Bender picked up the knife, and didn't spin it, but simply pointed it at Allison. "Are you really psycho, Psycho? Or do you act like it to get attention?"

She frowned, answering with an angry squeal. Bender poked her shoulder with his finger. "Answer the question, Ally-may."

Her mouth hung open for a moment, then she snapped her jaw shut. From between her clenched teeth came the truth. "My parents ignored me, I acted crazy. But I really am crazy, because I'm happy and comfortable and myself now."

Brian spoke up and asked, "Wait. Do you, or do you not, like the weird food you eat?"

She shook her head vigorously. "It's yummy!"

That got a laugh. Then Claire pouted.

"Is anyone ever going to ask me anything?"

Allison grabbed the knife out of Bender's hand and laid it on the ground to point at Claire. "If you could make one person at this school disappear forever, who would it be?"

Claire glared. "I didn't mean something like that!"

"Come on, Princess. Give us an answer," Bender chuckled.

No peer pressure was needed this time. Claire rolled her eyes and tugged at her ear. "Michelle Scott."

"But she's your best friend!" Brian protested, puzzlement flashing across his face. "Isn't she?"

Andy snorted. "They hate each other."

"Then why-?" Brian started.

"Appearances," Claire responded, annoyed. "We've both been really popular since we were kids. And that kind of forced us to seem like friends."

"That's SHIT," Allison exclaimed suddenly, making everyone jump.

"Yeah, well, high school is a whole load of shit," the Princess shrugged.

...

It was hours later, as more questions were asked and answers were shared, when Vernon threw open the door to the library. "Time for you to get out of here, you little shitheads."

As the weeks had passed, Vernon had slowly gotten used to the Breakfast Club spending every Saturday together in detention. It finally reached the point where he simply accepted it.

As they all gathered their things, Allison scooped up the knife and tucked it into her bag.

Bender turned and saw it was gone. "Klepto," he muttered.

Then they all wandered through the familiar halls and down the front steps. Three cars waited.

Allison's parents had forgotten her again.

"Do you want a ride, Allison?" Brian asked kindly.

"We could give you one," Andy spoke up softly. While he and Allison might be over, he still liked her.

Claire grinned and shook her head. "My dad could give you a ride really easy too, Allison."

Allison just smiled and shook her head, turning to Bender. He nodded and they started walking.

"See you Monday, dildos!" he yelled back.

The other three laughed and hopped in the cars.

As they crossed the football field, Bender turned to Allison. "Can I have my knife back now, Klepto?"

She stuck out her tongue at him, carelessly spinning in place. Giving him the opportunity to step in front of her, causing Allison to bump into Bender's tall form.

"Seriously, Ally-may. What's it gonna take to get my damn knife back?"

A childlike smile popped onto her face, and she opened her sketchbook and showed him a page.

The Basketcase was crazy, just like she'd said. But that didn't mean she had no talent. She had artistic ability in bucket loads.

And the proof was staring Bender in the face.

The picture was in shades of grey. Surrounded by some kind of endless forest were two figures. Who appeared to have been plucked from some kind of twisted fairy tale, to judge by their ripped, courtly clothes.

The two fell together, faces moments away. Somehow, they looked tangled together without actually touching. And their faces were revealed in a glowing shaft of light.

The girl had Allison's face, and the boy had Bender's.

Bender took in the picture in minor shock, then smirked.

With a lusty smile on his lips, one that made Allison want to run away, and jump into his arms all at once, he reached for her.

His hands were soft on her arms, put the subtle relentless pull sent her belly spinning.

As Bender's lips came down to gently brush hers, Allison pushed closer, dropping the sketch pad and wrapping her arms around his lean waist.

With a satisfied little murmur, he continued to tease her, placing kiss after butterfly kiss on her mouth, until Allison let out a squeak of frustration. His chuckle made her head float and her body tingle. Finally he leaned, kissing her for real. It took him a full minute to remember the original goal of the kiss.

Jumping back, teeth showing white in triumph, he held up the switchblade he had slipped from her bag.

Instead of returning his look with the surly one Bender expected, Allison held up her own hand, and revealed his bag of weed.

Which had been in his pocket.

"Klepto," he growled menacingly.

The Basketcase scooped up her sketchpad and took off like a startled deer. Only a deer wouldn't giggle and squeak.

And the Criminal chased her, shoving the knife into the pocket of his trench coat as he ran.


	2. Beautiful Psychosis

Beautiful Psychosis

a/n This is another Bender/Allison chapter. Angst and puzzlement abound. Teehee.

John Bender had never met anyone anything like the Basketcase before that day in detention. And, at first, he was okay with that. But the more time he spent with the rest of the Breakfast Club, and the more he got to like Alison, he couldn't help wondering if she was the only one like her.

Were there more folks out there who weren't afraid to be their real selves, even if it meant everyone else in the world treated them like they were crazy?

Bender made a study of it. And he'd never studied in his life. He thought studying was a lame waste of time.

He watched people. A lot of his people watching happened with Alison right at his side, staring, or making weird noises, or drawing with insane focus. Bender was always surprised to see the amazing pictures the Psycho could create with just a piece of paper and a pencil. She would just disappear somewhere inside her head, and when she came back out, there it would be, in all its unbelievable glory, way more amazing then anything Bender could draw if he spent his life learning from Picasso.

One of the days, Alison had gone home, giving Bender a quick kiss on the cheek and rushing off. The look on her face was like a kid at Christmas who couldn't wait to dive into their presents. And before he could ask what was up, she was gone, in a whirlwind of black and grey.

So he had walked by himself out to the park, ambled over to his favorite bench, and plunked down on it. In his big trench coat, ripped jeans, and thick sunglasses, he could have been mistaken for a bum. But the cop in the park knew Bender, and he left the kid alone. Officer Stein had been called to the Bender home often enough to deal with family disturbances that he was willing to give John the benefit of the doubt, even though there was a pool at the precinct about how soon after he turned eighteen John Bender would end up serving time.

As Bender stared around, watching the people walk by, he considered each one, holding up how they acted to his memories of the Klepto.

There was the little kid running around and screaming that he was an airplane. Close, but not close enough. He was a kid, so of course he didn't give a crap.

And then there was the old lady and her old dog, and she held bags full of breadcrumbs for the birds. She didn't seem to care how people looked at her. But she was probably about to die. Bender figured he would do whatever the hell he wanted when he was that old too. Not like there would be a point to pretending anymore.

But it still wasn't Alison's brand of couldn't-care-less crazy.

As for the rest of the shitheads taking a walk through the park, it seemed like everyone between the ages of twelve and fifty _did_ care what people thought. They all looked self-conscious, even while they were trying to seem confident. It was pathetic, really.

By the end of the night, Bender finally decided that were was just no one like the Basketcase.

He stood, stretched, brushed off his coat, and then started walking home, as the sun dipped down over the horizon. It was full dark by the time he got to the broken down house he lived in. Bender took a moment to glare at the place. He didn't have a single good memory in the hellhole. He could still remember waking up in the middle of the night, hearing his parents screaming, his dad whipping off his belt and his mom crying with every hit. Sure, his asshole dad still took his turn taking out his anger issues on John, but it was always the sound of his mom, his tough-as-nails, hard working, complete bitch mom, sobbing that killed him.

Finally, he realized the little sniffling noises he was hearing weren't in his head. Someone was crying.

Ducking around the side of the house, he saw the familiar, dark little heap sitting next to the window well that let light into Bender's concrete basement bedroom.

"Psycho?"

There was a squeak of discovery, and she darted to her feet and into his arms. He wrapped her up tight and rocked the crazy chick.

"Hey, what the hell?"

She just shook her head, pressing her face into his chest.

He pushed her away, holding onto her shoulders, and looked her right in the eyes. "What happened, Ally-may?"

The sweet nickname got a tiny smile out of her, then she shook her head and stared down at the ground. Reaching into the pocket of her jacket, she pulled out a paper.

"Congratulations," Bender read out loud. "The piece of art which you submitted to the State Art Competition was chosen by a panel of professional judges as the winner."

He looked back down at the girl. "Holy shit, Psycho. Isn't this a competition for, like, professional artists? My aunt's obsessed with it."

There was a nod of the head.

"Then why're you bawling your crazy eyes out?"

She leaned against him again, and mumbled into his shirt. But he had had practice understanding the weird noises and gestures that made up an entire language in the world of Allison. And the answer made him furious.

"Whadya mean _they didn't even care?_"

There was a shrug, then those eyes turned up to him, swimming in tears. "They don't care. They never care. I keep thinking, maybe if I try this, maybe if I try that... But they _still don't give a shit._"

He pulled her to him and squeezed her until she squeaked. Then he stared her right in the face. "Listen to me, Ally-may. Your parents are screwed up. Mine are too. But we got each other. We got Bri and Sporto and the Princess. We've got our own family, that's not a sad excuse for the type you see on tv. Got it?"

A frown and then a nod. "Do you think we _will_ turn into our parents when we grow up?"

Bender laughed, loud and clear. "Hell, no, Psycho. We're not gonna let it happen. You make sure I don't end up like my old man, and I'll make sure you're always the perfect kinda crazy. Deal?"

She grinned. "Deal. And I like beautiful psychosis better."

He chortled at that. "Since when are you the brain, Psycho?"

Instead of answering, she reached up and kissed him.

Later, John Bender held up the letter Allison had received and he'd stolen out of her pocket. "You are rubbing off on me, Klepto." Then he smiled.


	3. Painting the Puzzle

Painting the Puzzle

a/n Thank God for porch swings. They help me write and get sunshine.

People didn't pay much attention to John Bender, except to stay out of his way when he was in a bad mood. But there was one big exception to that generalization: the Basketcase.

John was an intricate puzzle box that she wanted to solve. Each day she found something new about him. Each day brought another confusing, exciting, unexpected piece of the puzzle to light.

He could be mean, especially when he was angry. But he was always nice to the lady who was constantly out looking for her cats.

The way he talked was rough and crude and offensive. But when he teased Brian, it was gentle and friendly and invited you to join the fun.

His clothes were a ripped, patched mess that made him seem tough, and like he didn't care what people thought of him. But he made sure his five-year-old neighbor kid always changed whenever he wore hole-filled outfits, and he asked Allison, whenever they went out, if she wanted him to dress nicer.

She never did. He was John Bender, and she liked him because of the puzzle box that was his soul, not because of what he wore.

The next day was Saturday, which meant all-day detention, which meant the Breakfast Club. And Allison was so excited about her latest art project that she didn't wait for her parents to forget they needed to drive her. Instead, she stuffed everything in her cluttered bag, carefully tucking the reason for her enthusiasm between two sheets of cardboard so it wouldn't get crumpled. Then she threw on her clothes and ran all the way to the high school. Her watch told her she was half an hour early, so the Basketcase sat on the front steps and waited, picturing Bender's smile.

"Psycho?"

She almost jumped out of her skin when he spoke. Allison had been so caught up in her own head that she hadn't even noticed the Criminal's arrival.

"Yeah, it's cool that we all get to hang out together, but it's still detention. What kinda psycho shows up early for detention, Psycho?"

As always, his mocking words made an enormous, white smile appear in her pale face. A happy squeaking noise escaped her, and she shook the mass of dark hair out of those huge, overjoyed eyes.

Instead of simply speaking, she grabbed his hand and pulled him down beside her.

Then she reached into her bag, drew out her masterpiece and handed it to him.

Bender stared at in shock for a moment, then brought it closer to his face and squinted, trying to take in everything.

It was a collage of about a hundred images. A scar, an earring, a field, sunlight, tears, sunglasses, and dozens of other things. Each was tiny and detailed so exactly, the hues of the paint so vibrant or deep, that somehow the maze of objects and snapshots seemed to synchronize perfectly.

"Damn, Ally-may. What the hell is it?"

Her grin was blinding and completely unafraid, only pleased. "It's you."

"What?"

He looked again, and it suddenly snapped into focus. The window in the stairwell of his basement room. The untied laces of his combat boots. The mini guillotine in his school locker. The bite marks on a pencil he'd borrowed. His finger tracing her jawline.

It was him.

It was all the puzzle pieces she had collected from watching him so carefully, being extra attentive. And she'd taken all those little moments and gestures and clues, and formed them into a painting that was the essence of John Bender. Once again, the Klepto had stolen the truth.

And he knew exactly what it meant. It was his favorite Basketcase's way of saying she loved him, John Bender, Criminal.

He laughed breathlessly and leaned in, teasing her lips with his own. She freely turned her mouth up, one hand reaching out to catch his collar, the other grasping the painting as he released it to tenderly cup her face.

When they pulled apart, his chuckle was low. Then he murmured against the edge of her mouth, "I love you too, Psycho."


End file.
